


You Forgive, You Forgive, You Forgive

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [142]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur Knows About Morgana's Magic (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon Needs a Hug (Merlin), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Gen, Good Morgana (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin), Morgana Knows about Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Morgana Needs a Hug (Merlin), Morgana was brainwashed and you will not convince me otherwise, Morgause was not good to Morgana, No incest in my house, Post-Magic Reveal, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Merlin (Merlin), Redeemed Morgana (Merlin), Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin), can be platonic or romantic you decide, only merlin/arthur and morgana/merlin tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25879993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: what makes a monster?what unmakes a monster?is it once a monster, always a monster?Merlin is a monster.Morgana is a monster.Arthur is a monster.It's not always that simple, is it?
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Morgana (Merlin), Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [142]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 14
Kudos: 337





	You Forgive, You Forgive, You Forgive

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhhh here we are at last and oh my god we are going HOME 
> 
> thanks to everyone who followed this series! I had so much fun with it and I hope you guys did too!

Fandom: Merlin (BBC)

Prompt: I would love to see what happens next. - HylianEngineer

Ah, yes! This is what I needed and craved. Lovely yes good more. :) Please. - PeaceHeather

onwards to Morgana! ❤️❤️❤️ - MonAlice

This is sooo good! I firmly believe that Morgana deserves redemption and I absolutely love the way you are writing it (as I love all of your stories). Please please continue with the story! I'd love to see them all talk together and finally express themselves. All the love ♥ - dipr314

this is so sweet and sad it's perfect

a little light at the end of the tunnel would be nice for her like GhostN27 said

i can't wait to read more of this!! :D keep up the amazing work omgg

kudoss <3 - biitersweets

THIS IS SO GOOD!! morgana saying she wanted to go home h u r t me, can we look forward to another part where the three finally talk? this series is wonderful <3 - disneyintrovert

Oh, don't mind me, I'm just here, crying, while I wait for the next part 😭💔

It was great, loved Morgana's reaction and she wants to go home, let her go 😭 - GhostN27

* * *

Morgana hasn’t moved.

She doesn’t _want_ to move.

Where did the dragon go?

Why was it here in the first place?

It…it wanted her bracelet. Why did it want her bracelet?

Now that Morgana had _realized_ what it was, what…what _Morgause_ was, she…she can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for the dragon to carry it. Unbidden, a keen slips of out her throat at the thought of the dragon having to struggle through the air with that awful, _awful_ magic tainting its aura.

What could inspire such a determination in the white dragon that it would be willing to do that?

And where would it go?

It’s not like there’s some mystical force that will snap their fingers and undo everything just because Morgana was more of a victim than everybody thought. Where on earth could the dragon be bringing the bracelet?

…no.

No, no, no, it didn’t—it hasn’t—

…the dragon didn’t go to _Emrys,_ did it?

Morgana’s eyes widen and she curls in on herself.

Maybe…maybe this would be a…a good thing? Maybe Emrys would—no, he wouldn’t forgive her. She knows too much about how beings of magic view destiny to ever hope for that. But maybe…maybe he could make all of this _stop._

He wouldn’t want to. She knows that. Emrys is supposed to be her _doom,_ not her salvation. The only thing she can see coming from a long sleep is salvation, so her doom must be to…stay alive.

Maybe _he_ won’t see it that way and she can…convince him if he believes otherwise. A sad smile touches the corners of her mouth. It’d be far from the worst thing she’s ever done, and if she’s a selfish monster already, she may as well see it through until the end.

If…if Emrys comes, she won’t fight.

Wings. She can hear wings.

Is the dragon back?

She raises her head carefully to see the dragon land in the middle of her ruined home, looking around and spotting Morgana. The dragon trills lightly, coming over and gently nosing Morgana’s hands. The earnest bumps drive away a few of the dark tendrils and Morgana’s smile turns genuine.

“Hello,” she murmurs, carefully turning her hand palm up, “is this what you want?”

The dragon chirps, laying its head in Morgana’s hand. She feels the rumble of its throat as it…purrs? Do dragons purr?

“In some special cases, yes.”

Morgana looks up, her smile disappearing, her entire body growing cold again.

“…Emrys.”

The old man in front of her inclines his head. “Hello, Morgana.”

All the lists of perfectly good reasons she’d come up with dry up in her throat, leaving her licking her lips nervously to wet them as she opens her mouth. “Are…are you here to kill me?”

Emrys looks at her, pity and sadness warring in his gaze. “No, Morgana, I am not.”

“Why not?”

The words escape her before she can bite them off and Emrys produces a small potion bottle from inside his robes. Her eyes widen.

“…what are you going to do to me?”

Emrys uncorks the bottle and raises it in a toast.

“Apologize.”

Before Morgana can ask what the _hell_ he’s talking about, Emrys downs the bottle. Two seconds later, a very different face looks up at her, no less terrifying.

“M-Merlin?”

Merlin sinks to his knees, even as Morgana flinches away from him as he moves. He holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender, his own face a barely concealed mess of emotions.

“B-but—how—I don’t—“

How is _Merlin_ Emrys?

Merlin…Merlin had magic the whole time? He…he _knew?_

“Morgana,” Merlin says, in a voice so _old_ and so tired that for a moment Morgana still worries the potion’s wearing off, “I am not here to kill you. I promise I’m not here to kill you.”

Morgana can’t help the disbelieving huff. “What changed?”

Merlin has tried to kill her. So _many_ times.

Does she blame him?

No, absolutely not, but what’s _changed?_

Why _now,_ of all the times, why _now,_ when she’s ready to die, does he choose to stop?

“I never wanted to kill you, Morgana,” Merlin says quietly, “and…and I know you don’t believe me—“

“I don’t.”

“—but it’s true.” Merlin raises his chin. “But I won’t patronize you with false reassurances and explanations. I…I _am_ here to apologize to you.”

“Don’t bother,” Morgana hisses, “I’m not here for your pity party.”

“I don’t expect you to accept it,” Merlin says, “nor am I…expecting your forgiveness. But I’m still going to apologize.”

_“Why?”_ The dragon rumbles worriedly next to her. “No one’s ever apologized to me.”

“That,” Merlin says sharply, “that’s why. Because no one _ever_ apologized for making you this way.”

Part of Morgana wants to reach for it. Reach for the light Merlin shines and burn up in it. The other part hisses in fear and recoils, diving back into the darkness and holding on for all it’s worth.

“Is that what this is,” she sneers, “some kind of _redemption_ quest? What, am-am I the last stop on your grand tour of making your way back to some-some _saint?”_

She tears her hands away from the dragon nosing gently at her and balls them up in her lap. “You need my tearful apology too? Am I supposed to give you some relief? Grant you some pardon?”

“No,” Merlin says softly and _why_ is he being so _patient?_ Why can’t he just be mad, snarl, rage, or even preach at her from some high horse? Why does he have to look at her like—like—like she’s a person?

“Then _why?_ ”

Merlin looks up at her and says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, “because you deserve it.”

_“Deserve,_ ” Morgana spits, looking away, “what a stupid, _stupid_ word.”

That’s all she can do, spit in the face of any kindness Merlin shows her because if she doesn’t—if she doesn’t she’ll crack and crumble and she’s had _enough_ of feeling weak.

“If it were truly about what I deserve,” she says, even as the words threaten to make her choke and retch from how _awful_ she sounds, “I would wear the crown and _you_ would be the one in rags.”

“Maybe you should.”

Her gaze whips back to Merlin’s. Merlin shrugs slowly.

“Maybe you should wear the crown, Morgana,” he repeats quietly, “maybe Uther—“

“Don’t you _dare_ speak his name in front of me.”

Merlin accepts her correction with a nod and _no,_ he’s supposed to be angry at how hateful she is, how unforgiving she is, not _acquiesce._

“Maybe the king should have treated you as his own from the start,” Merlin says softly, “and you should be Queen.”

What…what is he _doing?_ Why…why is he agreeing with her? He’s still looking at her like she’s _Morgana,_ not like she’s…she’s…

“You still haven’t apologized,” she spits, leaning on that like a lifeline, “are you _sure_ that’s why you’re here?”

Merlin nods his head, holding her gaze and every ounce of her wants to look away before the kindness she sees splits her in two.

“I’m sorry, Morgana,” he says, and _no,_ why is his voice so _gentle,_ “I am sorry for not telling you of my magic. I am sorry for letting you be mistreated and manipulated and for aiding in your isolation. I’ve—gods.”

Merlin shakes his head at himself, closing his eyes for a moment. “Gods, I helped _gaslight_ you, Morgana. And I am so, so, sorry for that.”

Morgana sits frozen. Merlin isn’t finished.

“I am sorry for not believing in you,” he says, looking at her with those horrible patient eyes, “I am sorry for not trusting you. I am sorry for trying to kill you without reason. I am sorry for all the times I have come close to killing you.”

Merlin takes a deep shuddering breath.

“And I am sorry for believing you are beyond forgiveness.”

The small part of Morgana that reached for Merlin’s light wants to run to him, to wrap her arms around him and sob. Accept his apology, burble out her own, hope for forgiveness. That small part yearns to go back, to make things right, to…to have _one moment_ of solace before the long sleep.

The other part of her, the part that’s been far too vocal for far too long, the part still steeping in the agony and hatred, twists her face into a cruel smirk and forces her to her feet.

“Such an _apology,_ Merlin,” it makes her purr, staring down at him, “such a _confession._ ”

_No, no,_ Morgana wants to scream, but she’s made herself this role, her body has no choice but to play it.

“Such _crimes,_ ” she continues, taking a step forward, “and what, do you think, should your _punishment_ be?”

She expects Merlin to bluntly inform her that she can’t kill him, for his eyes to widen in fear or anger. She expects him to scramble up, to prepare to fight back, _anything._

She doesn’t expect him to bow his head slowly, his hands folded in his lap.

“If you want to kill me, Morgana, I won’t stop you.”

A horrible disbelieving laugh bubbles out before she can stop it.

“No, really,” he says, looking up at her, “if you truly want to, I won’t.”

“So what,” she snarls, “you’re just going to kneel there like a lamb at the slaughter and let a _monster_ kill you?”

Merlin shrugs and she _hates_ how it makes her heart clench at seeing him so…so hopeless. “Monsters kill each other all the time.”

This time her laugh is entirely voluntary. _Merlin…_ Merlin thinks _he’s_ a monster?

“You don’t believe me,” Merlin says, “do you?”

“No, Merlin,” she says, “I don’t.”

“You don’t think my treatment of you is enough?” When Morgana slowly shakes her head, Merlin’s mouth quirks up. “Then how about this?”

He raises his chin until they’re looking at each other dead in the face.

“I have lied and schemed to overthrow the King of Camelot. I have _killed_ the king of Camelot. I am guilty of more murders and deaths than I can count. I have slaughtered more innocent people than I can remember. I can’t remember all the names of the people I have sacrificed for my own gain.”

Merlin’s voice grows deeper.

“I set loose the Great Dragon from the dungeons of Camelot. I am responsible for the lives he has taken. I have loosed curses, beasts, vengeful spells upon the innocent people of Camelot.”

Morgana’s hand twitches.

“I have killed my own kind to preserve a rule that would see every single one of them dead. I have betrayed my own kind several times over.”

Merlin’s gaze darts to the dragon still curled up near the wall.

“I birthed a dragon into the world and did _nothing_ to help her survive. I let her be captured and tortured until her speech capability was stolen from her.”

He looks back at Morgana.

“I have killed your sisters. I have poisoned you. I have lied and worked to kill you. I have made you an outcast. I have done things to hurt you that I would _never_ wish upon my worst enemy.”

He smiles, a small and bitter thing. His eyes are dead. “If you are a monster, then so am I.”

Merlin’s head bows, bearing his neck as an offering.

Morgana could. She could kill him in half a dozen ways in the next _second._ And with Merlin—with _Emrys_ out of the way, she could—she could—

Her magic crackles under her fingers. Her role has been clearly established. This is her chance.

_Do it,_ that dark part of her whispers, _do it for Morgause. Do it for yourself. Do it for all the people Camelot has crushed under its wheel._

Morgana growls, turning away, willing her magic to dissipate, panting harshly. Behind her, Merlin’s head raises slowly, his eyes still dead.

“What kind of a pair are we,” Morgana mutters.

“A pair of lonely monsters,” Merlin murmurs, “trying to make the world a better place.”

“Is that what we are?” Morgana looks back at him. “Is that what you call this?”

“You wanted to legalize magic to overturn the things that punished people for who they are,” Merlin says softly, “you wanted to stop the cruelty.”

“Look where that got me.”

Merlin shrugs. “I came to Camelot and wanted nothing to do with the crown. Then I wanted magic legalized. And here I am, after doing pretty much everything in my power to keep that from happening.”

“Destiny really did screw us over, didn’t it?”

“That’s been my experience with it, yes.”

Morgana tilts her head back, willing the tears of frustration to stay _inside her eyes, thank you very much._ This wasn’t supposed to happen. Her anger has nowhere to go. She doesn’t know what to do. Merlin’s not going to kill her, no matter what she does.

“So now what?” She laughs bitterly, her hands still clenching and unclenching at her sides. “I don’t think Arthur’s just going to welcome me back with open arms anytime soon.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Morgana squints, unsure of what Merlin’s talking about when—

“How long have you been standing there,” she snarls when Arthur— _Arthur fucking Pendragon_ stands in her ruined doorway, “the whole time?”

Arthur nods. Another awful laugh bubbles out of her throat, high, loud, and utterly mirthless.

“Am I supposed to throw myself at your feet?” She smiles and it _burns._ “Beg for your forgiveness? Recieve some royal pardon?”

“No,” Arthur says softly, taking a step forward. He stops when she snarls, her magic whipping up around her again. He raises his hands too, taking careful steps closer.

“Are _you_ here to kill me?”

“No, Morgana, I’m not here to kill you.”

  
He’s unarmed. He’s not even wearing armor.

“What could Arthur Pendragon want with his monster of a sister?”

“The same thing Morgana Pendragon could want from her monster of a brother.” Morgana has another retort on her tongue but it dies as Arthur kneels— _kneels_ —in front of her, his hands still raised. “An apology.”

“And what does the _great_ Arthur Pendragon have to apologize for?”

“I have been complicit in ruling a kingdom where magic is illegal and punishable by all manner of gruesome death,” he says, “I have enforced laws that have starved and killed innocent people. I have allowed a tyrant to tighten the crown’s grip on a kingdom until it was near collapse.”

He swallows.

“I myself have been a tyrant. I have slaughtered innocent people and led many more to their deaths. I have started wars that should never have happened and I have been pointlessly cruel.”

His hands tremble slightly.

“When I was fifteen, I led a raid of a Druid camp. Druids that have never acted out against Camelot in any way. And I…I stood by as my knights, under my command, slaughtered them all. Men, women, and children.”

Morgana’s heart clenches, both at Arthur’s confession and the way his voice shakes.

“And I did it all to impress a man who started a Purge whose legacy still reigns today.”

Arthur has to swallows again. He looks down for a moment, and when he looks back up, his eyes are rimmed red.

“I let my sister be brutalized and ostracised for something she cannot control. I let her—I _helped_ lie and convince her that she is some awful creature. I stood silent while our father abused her and helped manipulate her. I let her sister take her and brainwash her. I…”

His breath shakes.

“I helped make her into a monster. And for that…I am more sorry than you could ever know.”

Arthur huffs, looking between Merlin and Morgana. “If you two are monsters, well…then so am I.”

A tiny smirk touches the corner of his mouth. “And I daresay I deserve to die more than you two.”

No.

No, no, _no,_ this isn’t supposed to happen.

They’re supposed to be angry. They’re supposed to _hate_ her. They’re supposed to make her beg, make her writhe, make her _scream_ with the weight of everything she’s done, those are their roles, why—why—

“Why are you being,” she growls, “so _nice_ to me?”

Her hands fly to her hair and she tightens her grip, the white-hot pain sending her body into shivers.

“You’re—you’re not supposed to be _nice,_ you’re supposed to hate me, you’re supposed to—I’m supposed to be _angry_ at you!”

“You’re allowed to be angry Morgana,” Arthur’s voice comes from somewhere below her, “you’ve…you’ve more than earned the right to be angry.”

“But that’s not _fair!”_ Morgana’s hands tighten. “You-you're being _nice_ to me and I—I can’t be angry with you and it’s—it’s—why is it so _easy_ for you to be _nice_ to me?”

“You’re a victim, Morgana,” Merlin says this time, “you’ve…you’ve suffered so much.”

“Haven’t _I_ been the cause of most of the suffering around here?”

“We _did_ just establish that, uh, we are too.”

“But you’re not the monsters!” Morgana’s voice breaks on the last word and her throat screams in protest.

Merlin and Arthur are silent

“I…I’m the villain,” she mumbles brokenly, “that…that’s my role. I…I…you made me the villain. Everyone made me the villain, I’m…I’m supposed to be the bad guy.”

She hates the way she has to sniffle.

“You’re supposed to hate the bad guy.”

She sniffs again.

“I’m supposed to hate _you._ ”

A low growl makes her open her eyes—when did they close?—and she looks down to see the dragon on its feet, gently nudging her leg. It looks up at her then pushes her again. Is it…is it trying to push her toward them?

“Her name is Aithusa,” she hears Merlin say quietly, “she…”

“She’s your dragon,” Morgana mutters, “she…she healed me. She saved me.”

“She’s the one that brought your bracelet to us,” Arthur says.

Aithusa pushes Morgana’s leg again.

“W-why?”

“So she could show us what absolute idiots we’ve been?” Merlin laughs bitterly. It makes one corner of Morgana’s mouth twitch but she can’t look away from the dragon.

“Dragons are…perceptive creatures,” she hears Merlin murmur, “and they can see things we can’t.”

Morgana understands what he’s trying to say, but she doesn’t believe it.

“…what did she see in me?”

“She saw _you,_ Morgana, not the thing Morgause tried to make you into.”

Another huff. “I…I don’t know who that is anymore.”

And just that, just those words, just that one small, scared confession, is enough to reduce Morgana to a trembling figure whose knees buckle at the next gentle nudge from Aithusa’s head.

“‘Gana—“

She hears Arthur’s muffled cry and when she falls, it’s not onto the cold hard floor.

She stumbles and collapses, a frightened whimper escaping from her throat, quickly muffled. Arthur catches her, pulls her into his arms, and squeezes for all he’s worth.

And after so many years of fights, of isolation, of fleeting touches from soldiers and uneasy allies, of _cold—_

_—warm warm warm warm! Solid alive real warm warm tight help trap? Hug? Hug? Warm warm warm too much too much not enough on fire burning don’t let go oh gods please—_

—Morgana _shatters._

It’s too much and it’s not enough and she needs it to stop and she needs it to go on forever and it’s so warm and it’s so soft and it’s _Arthur_ and it’s her brother and it’s the person who wanted her dead and it’s the person who she wanted dead and it’s Arthur and it’s _Arthur._

She wraps her arms as tightly around him as she can and hangs on for dear life. She knows she blubbering into his shoulder, she knows she’s burbling out apologies, and are we sure Arthur doesn’t have magic? Because with every second he cradles her on the dirty floor she feels Moraguse’s grip loosening on her.

He’s clinging onto her just as tightly, saying something too, and she can’t make it all out but it sounds like apologies, sweet nothings, reassurances, and she wants to _bathe_ in them.

The Pendragons huddle together on the cold floor and wash away the hurt in the warmth.

Morgana’s head is aching by the time they stop, exhausted. She moves just enough to see Arthur’s no better off, his nose bright red, his eyes swollen. They laugh breathlessly. Then she catches sight of Merlin, still kneeling on the ground and a wounded noise bubbles up.

“ _Merlin—“_

She gropes out for him and he comes, letting them pull him into their huddle, wrapping their arms around him. She hears his breath shudder and it’s her turn now, burying her face in the crook of his neck and fumbling her way through any reassurances that come to her tongue. Arthur’s right there with them, holding them steady as the two sorcerers tremble under the weight of their magic.

They’re all so sorry.

They’re all forgiven.

A happy chitter is the only warning they get before a dragon head suddenly appears between them. Aithusa wraps her wings around them and plonks herself down, licking Morgana’s cheek. It makes them laugh, Arthur reaching to gently scratch behind the dragon’s ears.

“Think she’s happy, hmm?”

“Happy we finally got our shit together,” Merlin mutters.

“Can’t say I’m surprised it took us this long,” Morgana mumbles.

“Well,” Arthur says, “you always were stubborn.”

“And you always were thick-headed.”

“Obnoxious.”

“Unbearable.”

“ _Guys,_ ” Merlin whines, making them laugh, “will you two stop squabbling for like _two seconds?_ ”

“We’ve got years of sibling fights to make up for,” Arthur says, even as he tugs Morgana closer.

“And I got years of teasing you for your crush to make up for.”

Even Merlin laughs when the tips of Arthur’s ears go bright red.

All too soon, the moment passes as Aithusa dozes with her head on Merlin’s shoulder. Morgana shuffles uneasily.

“…so now what?”

“Well,” Arthur murmurs, “magic’s about to get legalized, so—“

“Wait, _what?_ ” Morgana looks back and forth between them in disbelief. “It…it is?”

Arthur smiles. “Well, I can’t have magic still be illegal if my Queen and Court Sorcerer have it, now can I?”

“You…” Morgana tests the words on her tongue, still not believing them. “…you want me to be your Queen?”

Arthur nods, sobering a little. “I…you were raised with me. Or, rather, I was raised with _you._ You…you made me see things I didn’t always _want_ to see, but that I needed to see. You…you were probably the best influence I had.”

Morgana’s throat swells. “But I…still? After everything?”

A hand runs gently through her hair. “What better way to show that I’m turning over a new leaf by ruling side by side with my sister?”

_Sister._

The last vestiges of Morgause whisper away as Arthur looks at her. He cups her cheek, his voice trembling.

“Come _home,_ Morgana,” he whispers, “ _please._ ”

It won’t be easy.

She’ll have to show everyone that she’s changed.

There will always be people who doubt her allegiance.

There will be many who call for her head, or worse.

Overturning the ban won’t be easy.

They’ll have to work day and night to keep it that way.

There will always be those who seek to use magic against Camelot and the crown.

Living as they are won’t be easy.

Arthur will be pushed, as a king and as a person.

Merlin will be tested, as a sorcerer and as a person.

Morgana will be challenged, as a queen and as a person.

But they will be people.

Not monsters.

Three monsters and a dragon left a broken, ruined shelter in the woods.

Three people and a dragon came back home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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